


cinders burning like lanterns inside

by nachttour



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Come Eating, Depersonalization, Eggs, F/F, Grief, Manipulation, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Pregnancy, Rape, Riding, nook licking, troll oral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-14 05:04:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20186722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachttour/pseuds/nachttour
Summary: “Since we are getting to know one-another, what are your thoughts on treason and revolution?”Lightly tapping something on her belt, a subtle static filled the air. I had heard about anti-listening devices from Mituna, but had never seen one in person. We had not possessed the funds in our core group, and the higher-blooded members of our movement were still precious about what supplies they had.“I think that they are subjective to the individual, pet.” She drummed her claws along the back of the loungeplank.





	cinders burning like lanterns inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chaotic_actualizationz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaotic_actualizationz/gifts).

> Hello prompter! This was a good challenge to work on! Spinneret and the Dolorsa were not a pair that I had necessarily considered together but they are pretty great! There are some darker elements to this work, please mind your tags. It is possible to skip the noncon section entirely if you wish. It's clearly labeled. Other than that, thank you for the opportunity to work for you!.

_ There are three parts to my story and all of them are true. _

_ I am the most legendary gamblignant ever to have sailed the seas of Alternea.  _

_ I was at one point a slaver and through this indiscretion I came to know the troll that changed my life.  _

_ Thereafter I helped to spark a revolution.  _

_ Understand the honor that you have been afforded, to bear witness to my tale. There is a great arc to it, befitting of someone of my station. I have been adored and hated by the best. I have mediated by and have mediated for some of the brightest and most earnest trolls living. Later, I was pursued across oceans and deserts by something out of legends.  _

_ History must be meticulously documented. If not, the telling is warped by the agenda of the notary. What came of this affair shook worlds, so of course it begs telling. It is simply a sliver of the beginning of something much larger. Within it, I have done my best to be factual and to be true. Sometimes change is long-coming and slights that have been given are not easily righted. That all is immaterial as the result was divine and delightful.  _

_ One must pupate through life, to rise to challenges and come further into their power. Out of that?  _

_Greatness._

**\--Excerpt from the Chronicles of Spinneret Mindfang, Volume number no longer legible.**

_ Coming into Spinnerette Mindfang’s ‘service was the latest and final indignity of my life. After languishing in the hold of an Orphaner’s hold, doubtless to be used as live bait on a hunt, I ended up in a different sort of trap.  _

_ The Gamblingants of Alternia’s oceans were known both for their excessive avarice and cruelty as much as they were quietly celebrated for their 'fuck everything' attitude. The same troll that would hang a quadrantmate off of the mast of a ship as a trophy might also help a segment of the lowblooded population survive a particularly bleak storm season by trading contraband.  _

_ They were a very uncertain ally when my family and I walked free.  _

_There is a story in how I came to adjust to life aboard ships and to started training the next generation of my child’s movement. This was accomplished by taking what I needed to build them from my captor, later turned lover._

** \--Excerpt from ‘Papers on Captivity and Revenge’ by Porrim Maryam, formally known as The Dolorosa, high war-criminal and imperial dissenter. **

*

1\. (M) (Sampling the Merchandise)

Bare asses on my navigation table are nothing notable. Given my pressing schedule, sometimes one has to pail wherever the free space is. Nautical charts are by their nature, both horizontal and free of excess clutter. Most of the time the owner of the ass was polite enough not to be directly on my maps. This particular instance, this was not the situation that occurred.

The little treat stretched out on her back impaling herself slowly on her own bulge was a welcome sight after the rest of the night’s work. The thick weight of her thighs were rim-lit by the moonlight from the window. Translucent pre-slurry shimmered in patches and sections where her bulge had curled against itself before burying it inside of her. One rumble sphere slipped free of her shift and lolled toward her chin. It jiggled just slightly as she flexed her hips to get a better interior angle. One of her heels was dug into the map of the Southern Abyss. Not a big loss, it was a shitty map.

Sure as I am the Captain of the _Widow_, I knew that my desk-decoration was a midblood. They are some of my favorite trolls to pail. Not the same interior inferno of rusties and no water-chill from the royal fishes. Right down the middle of the spectrum. The ghost of heat was already radiating into my skin. The thick weight of her ass would fit perfectly into my hands. There was muscle there covered with enough supple fat to really knead claws into. Enough to squeeze and work with. The winnowing down of the form from stress and starvation had not begun to shave her away.

Just a little touch and pull and I could have her in my lap writhing. Really, with the positioning and all else, it was a pretty clear invitation. It would be easy to slide into the valley of her legs and find the secrets tucked away inside of her body.

She’s likely from the Orphaner’s cargo. I took... well... I took all of them. If he didn’t want me to take them, he should not have made it so embarrassingly easy.

Instead of getting in there, and really being hands on I stayed in the doorway to my cabin and watched. There’s sort of an art to good pailing and some of it begins in the mind. The light from the windows glistened along the folds of her nook. Looked a little like the sparkle of the moons on the water.

The little puffs of her breath started this beautiful staccato, soft little ‘un - uhn -uhn’ as the line of her back drew taut. The heady smell of her -- ready to pail, open and slick on my desk filled the cabin like the most expensive perfume. Slick little noises added to the sound of the waves outside and the slow crinkle of paper. Her lip was half-hidden under her fangs, growing irritated and swollen under the pressure.

Just before she really could get into it and spill I crossed the threshold of the cabin, boots thudding across the wood. The thunk of them had always been a bit imposing, and that was the reason that I choose them.

Hooking a finger around the base of her bulge, my little snack’s eyes snapped open as I pulled it free from her with a wet ‘schlick’. Beautiful electric jade eyes focused on me like she was ready to fight, subtly backlit in a way that looked like something out of grub-tales. A rainbow drinker? I’d seen stranger things, though the possibility was closer to the realm of fantasy.

“I am afraid there will be no finishing on my desk unless I am involved.”

Really more courtesy than required, but the best pailing required a little bit of strategy.

1.(D) (rape) 

Walking out and onto the Marquise's ship was the first open air I had enjoyed since my initial arrest. It felt different on the skin.

The wood bit into my feet and the person behind me fell forward and knocked into me, burping from the upset digestion sack caused by the movement of water. As long as there was not vomit on my back all other things could be forgiven. That lenience was due to the sheer relief of watching the open skies above me. In some ways it was more familiar than the caverns that I had descended into after my sub-adult molt. Even though I spent most of my adolescence in the embrace of Alternia's depths, the sky is where I had started living.

There had been a transitory period where I felt like I would lift up toward the stars and spin away, flung like a thing free from gravity. The top of the caverns had been the wall of a cage, but also a strict definition between my world and everything else. After the defined nature of my world bellow, being above felt like walking in the realm of fiction or dreams.

Now freedom felt vital in all arenas--spatially, spiritually, and personally.

All of us were inspected -- for wasting sicknesses and things that would travel easily in groups. Then we were herded to one side and divvied up among the crew. I could give our Cerulean captor credit for a varied company. A few olives and yellows stood out between the otherwise cool composition of the group. Notably, they were the ones that seemed least enthused about pulling us away into private spaces. Perhaps they realized the paper-thin divide between our circumstances and theirs. Then again, there are always a fair amount who are willing to hurt others to reinforce their perceived safety. All of the conversations with Kankri about this, about caste and position and privilege ran quietly through the back of my pan like a soundtrack as banal atrocities began around us. The crew would hurt us, because they could and because it made them feel safe. We would not fight back because we did not want to die.

Well. Most of us. There were a few telltale splashes of bodies hitting the water at intervals throughout the night.

The troll using me for the evening seemed to be someone of ship-importance. A severe looking blue with cracked horns on both sides. She took me to an ostentatious cabin, full of books and tablets, illuminated by slowly glittering lamps. The various colors of the glass cast blocks of color over the furniture. The shadows shifted as they swayed with the subtle motion of the boat, and the idle question of why they did not have stabilizers flitted across my pan like a flapbeast crossing the horizon.

I did not fight the crewmember because I did not care what happened, so long as they did not break me. Blues in particular were exquisite demolition-trolls. Flesh, chitinous structures, and metal equally crumbled under the direct attention of the caste. Before anything particularly salacious could happen, a noise behind her caused her to leave at speed. Mixed in with the miasma of other suffering, it was nothing that I took note of. One moment there were very STRONG hands on me, and the next moment the door to the cabin swung shut with a sullen bang.

This left me shivering with fear-arousal and alone without direction. I did what any self-respecting troll in that situation might and started to take care of myself.

This all brought me to the moment that a woman in an elaborate costume hooked a finger around my bulge and pulled it out of me, with the admonishment that no one finished in her cabin without her involvement.

Well enough. Looking down the line of my body at her, I guessed this would be the captain. I was looking at Spinneret Mindfang.

Pulling my ankles toward me on the desk so they butted into my thighs and spreading them a little wider I watched her, hopefully the vision of submissive fear that many highbloods seemed to crave. Lubrication and the pre-fluids for a spill slid down the insides of my thighs.

She leaned forward, palms on the maps to either side of my hips and leaned in close, her one strange eye taking me in slowly. Like a piece of meat or a treasure of dubious value.

“Sugar-grub do you want to finish?” The sound of her voice was cloying.

“Yes.” My mouth was dry from panting earlier. 

“Yes what?”

I stared at her flatly, not sure what she was expecting. “Yes...highblood?”

A snort followed that. “Anyone can be a highblood, but not everyone can be a captain.”

“Yes, captain. I would like to finish.”

Hands fitted behind my hips and I was lifted off of the desk, papers fluttering in my wake. Every nerve and muscle in my body sang with dull unease. To be lifted by a stranger meant courting death. Then again...would that be such a bad thing? The slick drumbeat between my legs argued that it would be, at least if it came too early.

The sound of laces sliding through grommets slid through the air, and quick enough her bulge was out and free. Of course it would be. Rapists and murderers all of them. Getting off on our pain. Using us. Breaking us when they were done with us. Killing us when they did not like what we had to say. Smoke clogged the back of my throat and the oddly specific sound of skin and chitin cracking under heat filled my aurals. The rustling of the jewelry on the captain sounded like a neutered version shackles.

Anger slid through the apathy and I growled as she entered me, her bulge cool and dead like a fish. Something wiggling inside of me that didn’t belong there. There was no quiet place in the back of my heat to go any longer. Instead all of my focus belonged on the captain; a slight woman made bulkier by her coats and livery, her curls adding weight to her silhouette and her strange eyes locked on mine. I could see a distorted reflection of my own face in the glasses that sat on the end of her sniffglobe. 

Hooking my claws I pierced into her coat. I was not quite strong enough to bring blood to the surface of her tougher hide. She growled a warning at me, a hand on my torso. “Careful pet. I don’t know you enough to fight you just yet, and I don’t care to break my toys without an intention of doing so.”

Her bulge was flicking inside of me, pressing against my nook and lighting up things along my spine. I hated it. I hated it so much. It felt like firecrackers slowly working up my back, the warmth of fear and instinct causing the join-point of us to squelch. My bulge flicked idly, interested and bereft of duties.

“I.” I gritted it out through teeth locked in a snarl. “I am not your pet. You are not my captain.”

The smile that slid over her lips was sharp and unpleasant.

“I would be careful about what you choose to say and how it comes out, _pet_.” Her voice came out slow and easy, as if she had faced this anger a thousand times before and each time she had let it evaporate off of her skin like sea-spray.

“What I choose to say is the only thing that I do have a choice over.” I replied, hissing.

Heat built up in my hips. The twinned instincts to dip my head back and show my throat in submission or to bite her face fought in me. Anger won by a tiny margin. Blood dripped against my mouth and I spat out the splashes that landed in my tongue even though my throat ached to swallow it down. The tense coldness of her face told me what a mistake had been made in what I had done.

I did not regret it.

I also felt very little else as my mind went still as if wrapped in gauze. My limbs relaxed, my head hit the desk with a sharp ‘thud’ as all of the tension went from my neck.As she finished inside of me she stared into my face, watching me behind the windows of my eyes. I felt nothing at all, floating in a detached quiet. I should have been furious.

I _should_ have, but...

As she got ready to spill she did not pull out of me and I felt something different. A sharp, possessive kind of twitch in my hips. My legs slid up and around her, and I dug my ankles into the little dip above her tiny ass. My body wanted to keep her there, keep her inside of me. The tip of her curled up, and something sharp connected, and we were coming. I felt the hitch inside of me as slurry shifted, felt my muscles convulse and pleasure peak up through my torso. Fabric fell around me as she pressed in, her claws scraping along the fabric of the lounge. My mouth fell open and the pheromone-texture of us overwhelmed my thoughts. I could see down the line of her blouse, clear to the tight shape of her rumblespheres pressing against airy fabric. They were pierced. Small rings with winking blue jewels swung lazily from our movement.

She extricated herself from me, and I lay back on the cushions she dropped me on after shifting off of the desk. One of them was half under me and half off of the lounge, ready to fall at any moment. The rest had scattered beneath us. A few probably were stained beyond saving. My legs hung open like something out of a pailing vid and my bulge kind of lazily flopped around a few more moments before sliding back into me like a kicked barkbeast slinking into an alley. I thought that there might be a gush but very little fluid seeped out of me.

Maybe she was one of the trolls that had low slurry production. Just another element of a completely uninspiring waste of space on our planet.

Shortly after the crew came to put me back with the rest of the slaves. They did not bother to clothe me. Most of us were in states of undress as the door to the brig closed.

That was the first night on the_ Widow_.

*

_ The slave that appeared in my cabin was... quite the sight. The fact that my second mate saw fit to pail the merchandise in my personal space of course would be something that required both discipline.  _

_ Still, she was something of a calibre that I had not often come across. Too light to be an olive, and a temperament that shrugged off all of the usual fear and subservience that accompanied those of lower blood.  _

_ She was bold enough to try and hurt me. She bit me!  _

_ It was thrilling.  _

_ Not to be tolerated in the long term of course, but thrilling. _

_The taking of these particular slaves had been intended as a slight tot the Orphaner. Time will tell if he chooses to riposte the slight. I hope so, as I do my utmost to provide a challenge. It is rare to find an opponent of equal mettle._

\--Excerpt from the Chronicles of Spinneret Mindfang, Volume number no longer legible. 

_ There is an alchemy to this. There is a dance and a mixture. If the Marquise wishes to dance me around, then that is how it will go. I cannot truly tell if the desire that moves and shapes me is born of hunger, or loneliness, or her mind. My perceptions when around her are silk-soft and malleable.  _

_ Sometimes when I am close to her I find myself drifting to her as if she were magnetic north and I am the arm of a compass. Her pull is absolute and though I do not want to turn, I inevitably do so. There is no choice.  _

_ What I know with certainty and with clarity is what came before this place.  _

_ I want to smell something other than the sharp, sour smell of burning chitin. It slid down my throat like a poison and seeped into my internal structures.  _

_ It is all that I taste. The death of my charge underlies all of my moments; sneaks up like a perfume that blots out any other sensory input.  _

_ I will always be with him. The soles of my feet merged with the sand. All of the tears that slid down my face emptied me of further grief. Anything that slides down my face now is nothing more than colored water -- a reaction of an organic puppet going through it’s motions of blinking, breathing, shitting and sleeping.  _

_ I want revenge.  _

_ I want my family back.  _

_ I would do anything to make that a reality.  _

_ The puppet that dances to the whims of the Empire and to this woman that I now belong to--well; the scent of salt is slowly chasing away the smoke. If my whole form is nothing but an object to be moved by the whims of others, then it is imperative that I do some moving of my own.  _

_ There will be no controlling what happens to me, but I can take things from them and make them think that they wished to give them to me. That is the height of negotiation, really. The process of getting what one wishes without compromising too much.  _

_ There is an alchemy that I can do with my body. If I perform it right, if I time it just so, then I can take their fluids and remake my grub. I can turn my body into a crucible and a brooding cavern.  _

_ Barring that, then I can build an army out of my body. I will channel my rage into physical form. I will spin genes and slurry together and make soldiers that will not fight for the ones that have done this, but for the world that he wanted.  _

_ So I will pail this criminal. I will make her crave me. I will wind and weave myself into her life and make myself a stitch that will cause the whole of it to unravel if I am removed. There are secrets in our bodies that I have been privy to in the context of cavern-feeds. Secrets that were whispered between aullatrixes and never written down for fear of reprisal.  _

_I will have my revenge._

\--Excerpt from ‘Papers on Captivity and Revenge’ by Porrim Maryam, formally known as The Dolorosa, high war-criminal and imperial dissenter.

*

interlude (D) 

Those of us that ‘behave' are allowed up on the deck. Some of that has to do with keeping us from killing ourselves. Some of it had to do with the reality of clearing out the space that we are all kept in so it didn't reek of shit and despair. Throw enough unwashed trolls in one place for long enough and the language started to run out of even compound-descriptors for the scent. 

After the first night, most of the crew was too busy to bother with us. As such, I was able to sit near the railing and watch the splash of the water against the sides of the deck. Sometimes great blooms of invertebrate-balloons drifted close to the surface, their internal lights glittering and beckoning. Sky-whales dipped and shivered through the sky above, passing through cloud-cover like the shadows of ships. Occasionally other ships slid across the far horizon, flying flags that did not offend the crew enough to spur action. The vessels that did offend the crew meant that all of us very quickly scuttled back down into the body of the ship to avoid projectile weaponry.This night was not looking to be an eventful one. Stretching my bare feet over the edge and through the slats of the railing, I imagined that I was walking through the air.

A duo-toned shadow lay over me, the tint from the pink moon contrasting strangely against the jade-accents beneath my skin. “Not everyone is brave enough to sit that close to the edge.” 

Ah. That would be the Marquise then. After our initial encounter I had learned her titles and the rest of it. Gathered a concept of her reputation, learned who was in her grid. The crew was chatty. Boredom and sex were powerful motivators. I waited, unsure if she were going to monologue at me or if she wanted a response. Sea-birds dipped and swirled through the air, a few artfully diving down on an expedition for fish. They disappeared with barely a splash, shadows descending in clouds of bubbles.

Many of us were like that. Disappearing underneath the waves, without even a ripple to mark our passage.

The heels on her boots echoed against the planks of the deck, marking her approach. She came to lean against the railing next to me, the tails of her coat rippling slowly in the breeze.

“You aren’t afraid, are you?” Mindfang asked.

That would require an answer. Glancing through my tangled hair,, not bothering to turn toward her, I replied. “There is very little in this world that I am afraid of.”

Fire. Drones. Spies. The loss of something nameless.

“That’s atypical. For a slave.” The Marquise replied.

“I was not always a slave.” Despite the charged subject, I could not summon heat to my voice. “Then again... perhaps I was. To a system, instead of to an individual.” 

Mindfang’s good eye was like a third moon in the wave-filled darkness. Unlike some of the other highbloods I had met in my time she did not speak over me. The quality of her attention was nothing good, but the fact that I had it was interesting.

interlude (M)

The limeblood had been a good pick, after all. I had chosen her on a whim out of the group, partially for her aesthetics and partially guided by a hunch. I always trust my hunches because they always shepherd me to good places. Most midbloods and lowbloods are wanting in the arena of ambition. They live their lives ruled by fear that is pointless. If the worst comes, then it comes. No point in shuddering in a shadow that has not even touched one’s feet.

Then there was the troll before me. Her feet bare -- probably a good idea as the spare sandals and shoes we have on the ship had seen many owners. If someone dunked her in bathwater and ran a comb through her hair she might do very nicely sitting on a knee, or carrying mail and snacks. Something to keep around more often. Beautiful objects were their own reward.

*

Three weeks into the voyage I am beginning to wonder if what I want is the Dolorosa. Her title was not offered to me in person, but word of it came to my aurals from the crew. Apparently she was involved in some anti-imperial...thing.

I admit that I found myself curious over that.

The empire is monolith. It is the behemoth both above and below the waves. A sky-whale that you pray never falls on your vessel or a kracken that you pray you do not nudge with an anchor. To invite the empire’s attention is to invite culling.

She did that.

Not once, either. Over and over again. Gathering those that the military deemed disposable. Gathering the genetic aberrations of society. Telling them that the order that we have all labored under could be overcome.

Based on the etymology of her title that did not go particularly well -- but for all of that grief she is standing. The fact in and of itself is not insignificant. It is something to be celebrated and investigated further.

(M) (♦)

Three perigees passed and a handful of the slaves originally taken from Dualscar’s inept possession remained. Some were used as bait on raiding missions. Some were sold off at various port cities. A few flung themselves off of the ship.

The Dolorosa remains. There is a mark on her luscious body from the Orphaner’s attempt to murder her. It was a close thing. I don’t know why I expected anything better from him. One must have hope, but tempered with the spice of reality. He always was a bit of a bottom-feeder for all of his bluster. One to go for the cheapest shot and the quickest path to victory. Not the sort to appreciate a grand gesture or the quality of a rivalry cultivated over sweeps.

I might still be a bit angry about that. It is hardly worth further study than that.

There were several things that I learned from that particular night.

First: Timmus, my shipboard medic is about the most valuable individual that travels with us and I have started paying her better.

Second: When you kill a jadeblood they are not as interested as other trolls are in the business of remaining dead. Everything Timmus said indicated that we should be throwing the corpse overboard. The Dolorosa proved us wrong. 

Third: I have come to crave her. That is a problem. One that has kept me up this evening and is occupying the thoughts that should be turning toward our next port-stop. She smells better than any partner I have ever had the pleasure of having. Her skin was tough where it needed to be and yielding in all other places. If I could, I would pull her open and burrow inside of her to be surrounded on all sides. Barring that I would like to tear her apart and eat her. I would hide her away inside of me so that no one else could see or touch her.

If I did that, we couldn’t play together.

My lusus did always chastise me for being rough with my toys. She also had an unfortunate habit of consuming things. Perhaps that is where the fascination derives itself from. To posses something, one must have control over all aspects of it.

Then again...did I want to possess her? Or did I want her to challenge me?

Before I could travel any further into the webs and eddies of my own mind, something snapped me out of it. It was a sound out of place in the soundtrack of a day. This particular span of time was populated with heavy clouds, acid rain pattered down against the deck.

Of course the deck had been treated with various sealants so there was not an issue of material degradation, but it did make free movement rather irksome. Focusing on the outlier to the staccato sounds outside I found it more clearly: a guttural thing coming from behind the thoracic cage and born of pure pain.

Perhaps it was the sound of a dying naturae. Fat seal-sharks often swam near the ship, using the shadow of the boat to hide from schools of fish below. I had heard their death kneels often enough to draw the comparison. It didn’t sit right with me. No one would be hunting in the rain, naturae or troll. The water-creatures dove deep when the rains came. My crew were not stupid enough to stay above-decks unless they were on watch. 

Hauling a sun-cloak and goggles on I slipped out into the hazy light. The sun was hanging heavy and merciless in the sky, starting to crest the horizon, far away from the clouds. It painted everything in a terrible red light. A few more howls led me to the portion of the ship where the slaves were kept. Stepping over bodies and kicking a couple to clear my path, I found the source of the noise.

She was screaming in her sleep. Guttural, feral noises came out of her dry throat. Most of her fellows were either too exhausted to care, or did not want to be involved and were ignoring her. Reaching over, I shook her hammock. Unlike most trolls I was wise enough not to attempt to wake an un-quadranted troll mid-dayterror.

Her eyes snapped open like bright gems and her fangs were as magnificent as daggers. She swiped wildly at me, a few stray tears leaking down her cheeks and staining them. I could see the point of her pulse against her neck, pounding hard and frantic. I wanted to put my tongue against it.

“You are very loud. The crew have registered complaints.” They had done no such thing and neither of us cared.

(D) (♦)

Coming out of my umpteenth visit to the worst day of my life, my claws hooked into the fabric of the hammock. The hammock fabric flexed but did not rip; a result wholly of the Marquise’s enjoyment of pageantry and disinterest in menial upkeep. She had even done us the favor of having the hammocks lined with sopor-sheets. A spritz now and then kept the padding saturated.

Mindfang sat in front of me, calmly explaining that I was being an auditory nuisance. I did not care.

Smoke was shifting at the edges of my vision and I could taste charred keratin in the back of my throat.

“They can deal with that. We live in a loud world.”

“Perhaps they can. I cannot. Much like everything about me, my hearing is exemplary.”

I paused a moment, deliciously rude thoughts fighting to be free of my mouth. Sadly, I could not be that brave.

“You’ll have to find someone to drape around you. Perhaps they will muffle the noise,” is what I settled on.

“Too hard to do, I’m afraid. Day-shift is up and dealing with the fact that it is raining. There is rigging to check and backup systems to see to. Really quite difficult to pull a partner at this juncture.” All of her focus was directed to the gap in my shirt where the mass of my spheres pressed together.

“I’ll attempt to have more quiet dayterrors.” Perhaps she would go away.Given her usual flair for costume and theatrics, the sun-cloak and goggles were more off putting.

“Get up.” Mindfang ordered.

Swinging my legs out of the hammock I sat and waited for further instructions. My toe-claws did not reach the floor completely and dragged as they made glancing contact with the flooring. Mindfang stood in front of me, hands on her hips in contemplation for a measure of heartbeats before catching my hands and pulling me up.

“We’re going to my cabin.” She announced.

“Okay...” I let my agreement trail off. There was no evidence anywhere nearby of a spare cloak. Perhaps she would end up being privy to my secrets sooner rather than later. She stopped short at the doorway.

“It’s day now.” She absently touched the goggles on her face as if remembering that she was still wearing them. Given that she normally wore spectacles, maybe the fact that there was something on her face did not register.

“Yes.” I answered placidly, patient in the way that I had been with the particularly dense members of our movement. Just as I had done with them, I waited for her to think through the problem on her own while offering no solutions of my own.

“Well. Shit.”

I did not hold back a snorting laugh. She gave me a look along the line of her shoulder, amused rather than searing. “That’s what happens when you have innumerable irons in the fire, pet. The small things slip through one’s claws. I suppose we’ll have to stay bellow-decks.”

“Hm.” I offered her nothing because she never asked anything of me.

Following her lead I passed through a card-locked gate and into some of the nicer crew-quarters. One of the rooms sat vacant, the occupant out on other business. Mindfang slid the door open and walked in as if it were her own cabin, settling into a plush lounge-plank, gesturing me to the other side.

Easing down onto it, I caught a faint scent of the dye used to work the fabric. Not the same kind of chroma-runoff that I was used to seeing in things near Outglut and other areas on the coast. That was one of the side-businesses that we did in the caverns. Collecting spare blood and organic waste from failed grubs or eggs allowed for some incredibly stunning pigments that sold well to certain markets.

The garments that were made out of broken dreams, paradoxically were the most lustrous. I had always comforted myself by imagining that those potential wigglers were traveling with me, and all of their ghosts sat on my shoulders, experiencing the world as I moved through it.

“The loungeplank is from East Alternia. Specifically Troll Kowloon” Mindfang brushed a finger lightly along the embroidered cushions, as if she were petting a kept-naturae.

“Did you steal it or purchase it?” I asked.

She pushed the goggles to the top of her head, arching a brow at me. “Which one do you think?”

“I honestly couldn’t say.” My answer surprised me. She put so much effort into appearing to be a master thief. Her powers made it easy. Still, I wondered if her enjoyment of word-games and power-plays meant she hunted for a good price. One must know their quarry.

“Take a guess.” There was danger in her voice.

“I think that you probably had a very interesting and long conversation with the owner of this furniture before you made it yours.” I said.

“Good answer. Particularly because it is correct. I did not steal nor compel this particular decoration from its original owner. She was a business contact that I have done excellent work with over the sweeps. It was coupled with a few other things as part of an exclusivity agreement.” She lightly rested a hand on the arm of the couch, her long fingers covered in rings.

“Yours is an important type of favor to court.” I said.

“You are precisely right.” Mindfang smiled, proud of herself.

Silence settled uneasy and heavy between us.

“You were part of a revolutionary movement.”

Surprise straightened my back as if I had been stabbed. Some of the ennui from the endless time on the ship melted away in the face of fear. Still... she already knew. “Yes.”

“Why?” Mindfang asked.

What an exquisite trap she had laid out for me to jump into. It was simply a matter of which part of me it would crush first. “It started on behalf of someone that I love.”

No past tense. Kankri was inside of me. I could see his face when I closed my ganderbulbs. My dreams were filled with the sounds of him and our clade laughing, debating, and discussing. I still had scars on my arms from where he attached as a grub and would not let go of me. The foreign word was intentional, something that I had found in the digital archives. It fit much better than anything from our world had to offer with regard to affection.

“Someone you love.” Mindfang rolled the statement around in her mouth thoughtfully, lingering over the syllables. “Is that the guy they put on a rack and had some incompetent blue shoot?”

Rage briefly made my vision wash white. The calcified structures in my fronds creaked as I clenched them. “Yes.”

“Mm. Touched a nerve there.” Mindfang rested her chin in her palm, sizing me up.

“You can move in trolls’ minds. Do you experience their thoughts?” I asked, trying to get the racing of my blood pusher to calm, and for the adrenaline prelude to killing to fade from my pan.

“No.” Her tone was glib and her smile too-wide. “I don’t think I would be nearly so efficient if I were always drowning in the feelings of others.”

“They took the most important trolls in my life away from me. “ Briefly, I considered shredding her fucking lounge-plank, watching all of the metallic thread split beneath my claws, like so many ribs jutting up out of a thoracic cage. “So yes. You ‘touched a nerve’.”

“It was not my intention to irritate you.” She said.

That caught me off-guard. “Then what is your intention?”

“To understand you. Get to know you a bit better.” Folding her hands in her lap, she turned to face me. A different kind of a balance than what I was used to with her. Usually her whims dictated everything about my life, down to my position in space and the ability to do anything to change that.

“What is the purpose of understanding a slave?” I didn’t care if she was offended. She took the jab in stride, flipping her hair over her shoulder absently. It gave me a good look at the long line of her neck. It was a good display of a soft place for me. The fact that she did it subconsciously was that much better.

“I don’t see you like that.” She said.

No. She wouldn’t. Not after having her. She’d caught the taste and scent of me and mixed herself into my body. Now her pan was silently reaching for another hit of that same pleasure, seeking to please and sate me -- a replacement Mother Grub that she was not aware of. All of the power that she was so proud of, and none of it could protect her from me.

“Hmm.” I let the topic die. To investigate it too heavily would invite problems. “Since we are getting to know one-another, what are your thoughts on treason and revolution?”

Lightly tapping something on her belt, a subtle static filled the air. I had heard about anti-listening devices from Mituna, but had never seen one in person. We had not possessed the funds in our core group, and the higher-blooded members of our movement were still precious about what supplies they had.

“I think that they are subjective to the individual, pet.” She drummed her claws along the back of the loungeplank. “I am ... on a personal level, attracted to the ideals of them. The reality is often a lot more muddled. Revolution has a great deal to do with power. And treason lies within the eye of the person making the accusation of it,”

“Fair enough.” She was not stupid, which made all of it that much harder. “Then tell me this. Are you happy serving the Empire? What does it provide you?”

“Mmm.” She dropped her head against the back-padding of the lounge plank. “Quarry. Structure to hunt in. New people to find. A market.”

She glanced at me. “What has it done to offend you so badly?”

My answer was immediate. “It put me in a cage.”

Interlude II (M)

Beyond the initial offense of Cronus Ampora selling me out to the Empire, there was more to be endured thereafter. A Neophyte, of all things, was tasked to pursue me. If that was the calibre of enforcement that they felt I was deserving of, then by the gods I would lead her on a merry chase. I would show them how wrong they were.

Really, who the fuck put clowns in charge of those sorts of decisions in the first place? Pairing a judiciary system with a group of military enforcement dogmatically attracted to whimsy was not the most efficient way, in my opinion. Plotting the course on the under-lit points of my charts I ground my fangs together and tried not to let pique muddle my thoughts. Several course points pulsed and shone on the map. A multiplicity of paths to explore, if only I could get my thoughts in order. Running solely off of emotion was a fast path to culling.

The Dolorosa had been installed on my chaise lounge and was filing her claws. The soft grinding was the background soundtrack of my machinations. At least, that had been the last activity I had observed her engaged in before I had turned to the mapping system. Glancing over found her folding the file slowly, a look of meditative concentration on her face.

“That file must have done you some grave offense.” It was a little joke offered to her, but it did not produce the smile I had been hoping for.

Its new distorted shape resembled shackles. She twisted the metal slowly, creating two interlocking sections. Studying it a bit closer, it vaguely reminded me of some of the old lime symbols. Different chromatic group on the other continent. I had never encountered it in my home-country. Wisps of her hair fell over her face like a curtain, offering small glimpses without revealing the whole picture. In general, she looked better than when she had arrived to me. No smudges of dark exhaustion under her ganderbulbs. Her posture was loose, no longer tight with exhaustion and grief. The troll in front of me was lush. I wanted to touch her. Instead, I smoothed my hands against the interface in front of me.

“It did not. It’s simply what was available.”

It was rare for her to engage willingly in conversation with me. She would answer questions when asked and offer noncommittal replies when I spoke to her. However, to offer something without prompting was an improvement.

“What else would you require, if not that?”

“Similar piece of metal. Same shape. Sometimes things come to us in a form that is unexpected, but perfectly fits a purpose.” The Dolorosa smiled, just a little at the corner of her mouth.

“What is that?” I asked, unwilling to let the thread of our conversation drop. 

“The Sufferer’s sign.”

I could see the resemblance. “The rebel, you mean?” I paused, and gambled. "Your loved one?" 

Dice rolled in the back of my mind. She lifted her eyes to me. “That very same. In some ways, the two of you are very alike. Not in the important ones, though.”

The challenge should have offended me. Instead, it thrilled me to my core. Luck stayed with me this evening. “Where do you draw the comparison?”

“You both are strong-willed. You know what you want and you go for it with determination. His was born out of moral certainty and equal certainty of death. You? I think that bravery comes from a place of belief that you cannot fail.

“That... is where the two of you differ. He knew that he most likely would, but he had to press toward his goals. You move like a hunter, because that is your nature. And if you are brought low it will be by something stronger than you still.”

“What does the sign mean?” Maybe she could confirm my suspicion of borrowed signs and enlighten me to its origin. 

The Dolorosa’s laugh was small, brittle, and ugly.

“Nothing. It’s a visual representation of the shackles they used while they were burning his hands off.” Her eyes locked on to me, like laser sights or knives.

“What would it take to make you mine?” The words tumbled out of my mouth unbidden, as if her approval and her favor compelled me in the same manner that I could compel others.

The look she leveled at me was long, and measuring. No warmth or break in her expression assured me that it had been the right or appropriate question to ask.

“Show me that you aren’t a tool of the empire.” Her tone was cold. “Learn about what my family believed. You don’t have to agree with it, but prove to me that you understand. If you have a valid point, we’ll discuss what you believe. Come to me with that understanding and I will consider having you.”

She slid a leg out over the lounge-plank. The cut of her outfit gave me a look at the length of it. Photoreactive plankton based ink shone in a swirl descending from her hip toward her toes. That would mean that she had charmed Khemmi into doing her tattoos for her - they certainly had not been present at our first meeting, and that type of ink was only found in the gamblingant’s fleets. That hue and tempo of flickers was Khammi’s mix. White and silver dots pulsed against the dark of her skin.

“For now, I’m comfortable and I would not mind having a little release. Consider this a down payment toward future negotiations between us, quadrant or otherwise.” She shifted against the couch, letting the fabric of her dress slide off of her shoulders. More swirls crawled over them and descended toward her chest.

“Come show me how you treat an ally, Mindfang.”

A tiny, stupid, selfish part of me wanted to hear my hatchname in her mouth. What would it sound like to have her moaning Aranea against my neck?

This was a test. A chance to show that I was worthwhile to have in her grid.

Turning in my seat, I slid down onto the floor, walking the short distance between us on my knees. Sliding close to her hips, I smoothed a hand along her offered leg. Her attention on me felt like the blistering heat of the sun.

What was I though, if not brave? Turning from her I leaned over to press a kiss along the inside of her knee, peeking at her through my hair. Receiving no rebuke, I squeezed her calf and continued to trail kisses upward along her thigh. It was warm and solid beneath my mouth, and the temptation to bite was strong. Pausing right at the border of flesh and her skirt, I flicked my eyes upward. “Tell me what you would like from me, my Lady.”

Her eyebrow went up slightly, mouth half folded down into a sneer. “I’ve moved up in the world fairly rapidly, Captain. From a kept thing to an honored guest.” I noticed the subtle flush around her neck and throat and prided myself for having ushered it there.I could smell the subtle spice and musk of her. I could imagine the slick folds of her nook and my mouth watered in anticipation.

“Even the grossest error in diplomacy can be apologized for.”

“Don’t cloud my mind. Take me properly and pay attention to what it is that you are doing. If you’re any good at pailing then that should not be a tall order.” She leaned back against the couch, idly smoothing a hand over her stomach.

Thus commanded I brought my hands up along the outside of her thighs, nudging and bunching her skirt up. No underwear, just the beautiful curves of a troll in their prime. Further tattoos swirled up to the tops of her hips and curved over and around her thighs. Khemmi might have to get transferred to another ship. The thought that she had touched the Dolorosa made jealousy flare hot and ugly inside of me. More concern toward that later. All of my attention rightfully belonged to the task in front of me.

Softly pressing in my claws, I felt the muscles beneath my fingers bunch. A bit of careful rearrangement had the Dolorosa’s legs over my shoulders. Purring against the folds of her skin, I ran my tongue slowly along the seam of her nook, letting the taste of her cover the flat of my tongue. The tip of her bulge brushed the bridge of my nose.

Her hand slid down between us, taking my glasses off before her bulge could wrap around them and coat them in slurry. The world changed into a soft haze and for a second panic overrode my desire. This was a test. I was asking a great deal of her, so I would have to give in return.

Nuzzling along the bottom of her bulge as it slowly worked free I could feel the slick moisture of slurry painting itself along my cheek. The scent surrounded me and made me dizzy. Chirping up at her, I stretched arms up to cup her ass and hold on.

She obliged me subtly, raising her hips so that I could get a proper grip and she in turn could get closer to the vibration of my mouth and throat. One of her hands tangled into my hair and she undulated in time with my breath, mouth open and breathing deep and heavy.

We got to a point where she was fully unsheathed, her nook shimmering and slick. Looking down the line of her body, she wiggled out of the rest of her dress. It was like glancing at the moon through the valley of two of the most beautiful mountains on the planet. Freeing my hands from underneath her, I smoothed them up along her sides and chanced a lick along the line of her bulge.

It was a scary thing, given our species’ propensity for very sharp dentition.

She wiggled free of me, adjusting herself on the chaise lounge so that she had a grip on the arm and her ass and hips were on the air, kneeling and spread open for me. Her hair slid over her shoulder in a fall of darkness. The sound of her voice was thick and commanding. 

“Get inside of me.”

How could I refuse? My nook ached to clench around her, but there would be time for that later. This was about her desires, and I was determined that I would exceed her expectations.

Divesting myself of trousers was a quick thing. Concern about getting stains on my coat were not foremost in my mind within the moment. It fell down around us like a blanket, creating a space where just our bodies and the dark existed - hints of the map display’s light shimmered against the cushion beneath us.

Sliding into her was like diving into warm water. I flexed and shivered inside of her, felt the give and take of her muscles beneath my hands as our bodies went to doing what felt best.

Fitting myself along her spine I showered kisses over her shoulder, mouthed against the back of her neck where her hair had parted to reveal it. Reaching up, I cupped the volume of her spheres and kneaded claws against them - careful not to injure, just to sting and tease. She shuddered, the sharp points of her horns scraping against my furniture. I watched her fingers flex, and enjoyed the play of light along her horns. 

Running one hand down her stomach I caught a handful of her bulge and made a small space with my fingers for it to wiggle into. It flexed and shivered in my hand, slurry dripping between my fingertips. She pushed back into me, grinding her hips into mine and encouraging the broad strokes of my bulge inside of her. My coat rustled around us, keeping her warmth close. 

It was different than when I pailed my usual suspects. It felt like I could just stay with her like this forever, like I was going to fall into her and stay there. My bulge found a cranny of her and the whole of her interior clamped down around me. Grunting beneath me, her claws sunk into the pillows and pierced the fabric. “Don’t pull out. Spill it inside me like you did before.”

The hitch and texture of her voice had me sliding into orgasm without a chance to resist it. I kneaded and squeezed her bulge along with my own climax, trying to get her to join me. She whimpered her face mashed against the pillow and turned to the side, lashes fluttering against her cheeks, completely gone inside of her own pleasure. The Dolorosa made no attempt to reach back to me, to connect. She simply purred, deep in her chest and absent as she caught her breath. A strange sense of accomplishment swept over me at having given her that.

It felt weird to let go inside of someone and not immediately slide free of them. My bulge shivered and pulsed, encouraged by the contractions inside of the Dolorosa. Slowly I eased myself out of her, and she let out a soft sound.

Sitting on my heels, I rested a hand on her back. “Please, can I have you inside of me?”

Rolling over languidly, The Dolorosa watched me. The inside of her thighs were smeared a beautiful blended teal. Her bulge, resistant to my efforts to tame it, curled and slid against itself.

“Come here.” She crooked a claw at me and I moved up as if snared on a fishing line.

Getting myself positioned over her, for a few moments her bulge shivered along the seam of my nook, and easily found its way inside of me. After all of the excitement my thighs were a slick mess, drips slowly finding their way down my limbs to pool at the back of my knees. Thinking back, I really had never been this turned on in my life.

The pressure and movement after the buildup was divine. Leaning into her legs I shuffled my hips slowly, feeling the pressure against the bottom of my bulge as it partially emerged. Tracing the swirls and light over her hips I openly watched her, mouth open and panting as the waves of pleasure crashed through me.

“My name’s Aranea.” It felt right, to tell her this. The space between us was hot, the join of our bodies a slick and warm mess.

“I want to know your hatch name. I’m sorry that I treated you poorly. I want to do better.” I babbled it out, shivering and twitching. I never apologized if it was not something that would net me a better outcome than the original offense. I could not tell if this one would give me anything at all.

I wanted her to like me.

She beckoned me down and I curled forward over her. She drew my face in and kissed me slowly, purring and chirping against my mouth.

“You haven’t earned the right to my name yet, Captain. Prove to me that you can learn and maybe I will give it to you.”

Her bulge hit a point inside of me and I spilled helplessly, smearing my color over the plane of her hips.

(D) (♥)

The currency of the ship was sex or power. Seeing as I had no power to offer, my body served as the next most efficient currency. Being that I did not want to have incomplete tattoos, I knelt between the gunner Khemmi’s legs and swallowed her bulge. A calculated risk on both of our parts --she could have choked me, and I could have bitten her. Neither thing occurred. It did help that breathing was not something that was strictly necessary for me. Not always, not any longer. Touching death was a strange experience.

Her own ink shimmered against her skin, winked as the heat of my fingertips traced over it. They were beautiful things to trace, and something to do while she slowly flexed and shivered in my mouth. Smoothing my tongue along the base of her, I went about chirring. Her spine went rod-straight and she crooned in response.

“It’s good, sugar. It’s really good. Anything that you want, I’m going to do it for you. Just don’t stop.” The soft pinch and pressure on my scalp was pleasant. Leaning in to her I changed the tone of my sounds and felt her shudder.

The clutch that began with my first encounter with Mindfang was progressing well. To keep it viable I had to get other genetic material to mix in. This of course meant feeding myself the correct substance just the same as we would do for the Mother Grub herself.

The clutch sat low on me, pressing my skin outward in a bizarre manner. Our interior plating was meant to stretch, but not like that, not over a long period of time. It made my balance strange. It changed how my skin felt. To the purpose of possibly recreating my Kankri, to keep our movement going, I would endure discomfort. I would do strange things that pushed my body.

Khemmi squirmed against me and encouragements poured out of her mouth. It all came to a halt when the door in the background swung open. The swish of Mindfang’s coat filled my aurals and I chirped a welcome.

Mindfang leaned against the counter. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her boots. “Ladies.”

Khemmi stammered, trying to pull free from me. I wound a hand around her thigh and swallowed, staring up at her. Our eyes met and she smiled slowly. She then glanced back up to Mindfang.

“Captain.”

“Gunner. Your shift starts in fifteen minutes. Do you think that you will be ready for it?”

I smiled wickedly, bringing a hand up and brushing my finger back and forth along the line of her nook. Pressing up and in to the shallow entrance to her I stroked along with the undulations of her bulge. In my mouth, I could feel the base of her start to swell. Saliva filled my mouth.

Reaching down between my legs with my free frond, I pushed the blunt of my palm against my nook, rubbing roughly. My bulge was not interested in the situation yet, but my nook had started to prepare for visitors. The particular sensation of being both wet but removed from the action made me hungry for fingers or a bulge inside of me.

Khemmi grunted softly, attention on Mindfang as she started to curl forward and toward me. Her palms came to rest on my shoulders and she made a weak attempt to pull away before spilling herself down my throat. I choked and gurgled around the rush of fluid, relaxing my throat and letting her inside of me. The taste satisfied something in the back of my pan.

Wiping the side of my mouth as she slid free of me, I turned and looked at Mindfang, at Spinneret. Not Aranea to me, not yet. She had offered that, same as a bared throat and I was still considering what to do with the gift.

The Captain watched us, and I could smell her. I could smell that she wanted me and the anger that she felt. It fueled my pleasure at the entirety of it.

“Khemmi.” The growl that echoed under the name was what finally prompted my tattoo artist to speak.

“I’m ready now, Captain.”

Mindfang looked at her tucking her clothes into order and snorted. “Bulge half out and all. Get going.”

I reached up, touching Khemmi’s hip. “I’ll come and see you tomorrow. You have time to get the other part done right?”

Her tone and face softened at me. “Of course. I’ll see you then.” Risking a look up at Mindfang, she exited the room.

Left on the floor, feeling full and pleased I turned to the Captain. “Good afternoon, Marquise.”

“It is, isn’t it?” The sound of her footsteps on wood - familiar to me now, came to my side. Her hand appeared in the periphery of my vision. “You don’t belong on the floor. Come have a drink with me.”

Taking the hand, I rose up to stand. “How have your studies been going?”

The quality of Mindfang’s attention felt different. Instead of watching me as the subject of pheremone-fixation there was a clarity to her face that both intrigued and frightened me. Instead of answering, she led the way back to her cabin. Pouring me a glass of something sparkling, she uncorked a bottle of fire-whiskey and served herself a finger-full. Bringing both glasses to the side table near the seating, she made herself comfortable.

“Productively. Please make yourself comfortable and we’ll discuss.”

Admittedly, I had my own thoughts about forced caste-assignments, about the treatments of certain populations of the population. However, it had always been Kankri who shone in debates, who had meticulously thought through all possible scenarios. His was the life that was in more peril from the beginning. Chromatic aberration was a different beast than the guaranteed servitude that Mituna and I had been promised.

Still, Mindfang had put in the effort to understand. She spoke on the shift from inter-chromatic assignments of power beneath the Empress prior to the Condescension and compared that to the more rigid contemporary caste structures. She brought up points that we had not heard -- even at the higher echelons of society, there was stress and uncertainty. Ceruleans were tapped from a young age for intelligence, and groomed from a young age to accept that no one would trust them. Not really. Holding the keys to another mind was a guarantor of mistrust.

There was even mild unrest in the mirthful circles, the indigoes apparently highly dissatisfied with their rigid societal assignment.

Admittedly I found it hard to sympathize. However, the long talks near the firelight had taught me to listen with an open pan. To find places of commonality and reach across to build connections where further progress could be made.

“Mostly what I was impressed with... is the idea that we flourish more with inter-societal cooperation rather than stratification.” She said. 

Mindfang tapped her claws lightly against the tumbler of her drink. “I won’t lie, a lifetime’s worth of consideration of my own safety... of my place...it’s hard to want to give that up.”

She sipped her whiskey, looking past me. “But... the long game is what interests me. I do not like the Lords and Ladies. Many of them make decisions that are stupid, waste resources and bodies, and do not allow for any growth of the world.”

“Beyond that...the suffering beneath me is....worth consideration.” Mindfang amended.

“I am considered somewhat eccentric for having the mix of crew that I have now. If I could have a wider skill set... there would be even more that we could accomplish.” She turned toward me.

“I suppose that you were hoping that I could be silk-soft and care about everyone. That seems to be the heart of things - “

“You wouldn’t.” I cut her off calmly, slowly sipping from the glass she had provided. “You are a grub of the Empire. But you are also not stupid, and that was what I was curious to see. If you could understand us. Understand our struggle and help topple the powers of things.”

Mindfang swirled her drink in her glass. “It doesn’t bother you that I don’t care?”

“You still need to learn. It’s just like a muscle. Consideration. Empathy. They are traits that have to be practiced just the same as strife forms.” I said.

“Do you suppose that I can?” She asked, her head tilting and eyes slitting in interest.

Smirking, letting a hint of fang show, I raised a glass to her. “I suppose that is up to you. Can you?”

She reacted well to challenge. I knew this and I could see the concept of it take hold of it. Another seed planted toward a future with powerful allies and meaningful change.

Truly, she had impressed me. Finding Kankri’s teachings, videos of our forums and discussions was not a small thing. Most of it had been scrubbed from the Imperial servers. The planetary internet was constantly worked over by censors. The light web was a thing, but accessing it without killing your husktop presented its own set of barriers.

Looking at her and the severe lines of her face, and the reflections on the panes of her glasses I felt a subtle pang of desire. She had done well -- well enough to deserve a reward. Pulling a wild flush up around her face and ears was its own sort of power.

“You’re full of surprises.” My voice went thick with a chirring lilt. “I think that you are due a reward. I pay my debts.”

(M) (♥)

Let it not be said that I would turn down an offer like the one in front of me.

The Dolorosa had claimed the opposite end of my lounge plank, sprawled with careless elegance. Color sat high on her cheeks, a beautiful tinted flush plunging down into the low neckline of her dress.

My instinct about her artist had been the correct one. The subtle fury of watching her swallow Khemmi’s bulge still simmered in the back of my pan. None of that mattered, not at the moment.

“I would not consider learning something new and paradigm shifting like the Sufferer’s teachings to be anything more than a gift.”

It was a shameless ploy to gain her favor, couched on a nugget of legitimate belief. The mutant had held some interesting opinions. Some of his teachings in the long term would make our society less of a shithole. There were a few places where I agreed outright. The most important piece of all of it, though, was the The Dolorsa. The vision on my couch that I could not have in the way I wanted if I compelled her. Having spoken with her and understood her, a puppet would never do as a replacement.

The look on her face reminded me of the various sweethearts that I had entertained when I was young. A little hungry, a little bemused, and very warm. I wanted to know her name.

“Come here.” She opened her arms and I followed the illuminated swirls to settle in properly close.

She pulled my hat off, setting it on a side table. “I reward good behavior, Aranea.”

Drawn in and half giddy from the unexpected intimacy of my name, she kissed me slowly. The fullness of her lips and the taste of her skin put all other thoughts out of my pan. We lingered, trading kisses and careful nibbles. Her fangs scraped along the column of my throat and I bared it to her without a thought. She could have anything of me that she wanted. I wanted her to have everything of me.

The fabric of my blouse tugged free of my belt, and warm hands smoothed over the shape of my abdomen and up to knead along my spheres. I purred at her, sweet and soft as a grub. She threaded her claws through my jewelry and pulled carefully, making me catch my breath at the pressure. 

She peeked up at me, her hair half hiding her beautiful face. One of her fangs pressed into the meat of her bottom lip. “Take off your clothes, I want to look at you.”

Anything that she asked of me, she would have.

I stripped slowly, taking pleasure in the tension between us. Perched over her, I carefully pressed the pearl-buttons out of their holes, unwound the scarves around my hips, and slid the laces from my boots. Removing all of them sedately I felt the pressure of her attention on me and my body reacted as if it were compelled. My bulge had half-unsheathed, peeking out of the folds of my nook, and everything felt tight and ready. Ready for a fight, ready to pail.

Laying on the couch, she slid a hand between her legs, kneading lazily. A green stain darkened the fabric beneath her fingertips.

“I want you so much. I want to taste you. Get up here.”

Making my way up to kneel over her, I looked down to her face. “Like what you see?”

She did not answer, shifting up to kiss the inside of my thighs. Resting a hand on top of her head, I traced a claw slowly along the base of her horns. The rumbling purr I received in response was enough to keep me intent on the same motion. Around and around, occasionally up and down with the tip of my claw. Different color bands. Three-two-one. One-two-three.

She pushed my bulge against my stomach, trapping it as she went about sliding her tongue inside of me. It flickered and pulsed, sometimes deep enough that it satisfied my tense nook. Other times it felt shallow and I could feel her mouth sucking away all of the slickness outside of me. Her breath was hot against my skin, one hand locked around my thigh and keeping me in place.

I let myself moan, moving with her. Spreading my legs wider when she touched me to do so. Leaning closer to give her a better angle. My back was going to be sore from the angle and I could hardly care less. Her eyes were half-lidded and seemed to shimmer in the light of my cabin, her lips wet and shiny with my color. Trails of slurry traced down her chin and neck like jewelry.

“Will you tell me your name, beautiful?”

She hummed against me, grabbing my ass and pulling me down against her mouth. Her tongue flicked mercilessly and I clenched around her, feeling the precursor to spilling moving through me.

“Please?” My voice came out high and pleading. I kneaded claws into her hair, clenching too tight and hearing her chirp in response to the pressure. I wiggled against her helplessly, slightly frantic to communicate my requests in the moment and chasing the release that I knew was coming.

“Please. Please, Dolorosa please...” I dropped my head back and rode the sensation of her. The slight touches to the base of my bulge as I ground down into the wet heat of her mouth. I came without warning her, spilling into her open mouth.

Beneath me, she swallowed it down. Her pupils were tiny in a huge field of green. My color dripped down her throat and chest, seeping into her dress.

I wiggled down, licking myself off of her skin and pressing kisses to the cleaned patches. She went about pulling the dress off and I was treated to the expanse of her, along with a strange bump in her middle.

The euphoria gifted me slid away. I reached out, only to hesitate before touching the bump. It looked... strange, and very serious.

“Do you... need to see the medic?”

The Dolorosa settled back on the couch, one leg tucked up and the heavy weight of her bulge curling against it. “No.” Her tone was calm, and careful 

“I’ve...” I paused. Really thought about what I wanted to say and why. “Would you trust me to tell me what is happening?”

“Maybe.” Tapping a finger against her bottom lip idly, she eventually returned her attention to me.

“Let’s do this. A secret for a secret. You love those, don’t you?”

She had me there. “I do.”

“My name is Porrim. Porrim Maryam.” She rolled onto her side. Her tattoos shone in the low-light of my cabin. Coming in I hadn't bothered to turn on most of the lights. "I am brooding new wigglers to replace the ones that the Empire took from me. I am going to give the Sufferer’s teachings to trolls from the beginning. To give them the lives that we should have had.”

Her eyes were sharp. “Some of these wigglers will be predominantly yours. You’re one of the main contributors. I think my name, coupled with my cooperation is enough to guarantee their safety.”

I sat heavily next to her. I looked at the soft mound of her abdomen. It was beyond anything that I had ever heard of. Brooding children inside of one’s body?

“Does it hurt?” It was the first question that managed to get free of my mouth.

“Not more than the offense that necessitated their creation,” Porrim replied.

What other question could follow that up? There was work to be done in the wake of that particular revelation. Irons to put in the fire. I offered my most genuine smile, adjusting my smudged glasses.

“We have a deal, Porrim.”

The first genuine smile that I had seen on her settled on her mouth.


End file.
